It was not crystal that glittered on the walls, but it almost seemed so. Sparkling and brimming with myriads of colors.

Henry had no idea for how long he had wandered the odd cave, mesmerized by the glimmering walls, when their shade suddenly shifted. The brightness, which seemed to have no source, dimmed. Henry turned to discover why . . . and found himself face to face with a smooth wall, covered in the shimmering substance.

It was . . . a mirror, he realized, brushing his hand against the smooth surface. Back at him stared his own face, the way it should be. Not the face of the Prince of Regalia, but the face of the competent, confident outcast warrior that he had been for one fleeting moment—with his infectious, self-assured grin and that gleam of life in his eyes. These were the eyes of a man who could do anything.

Henry raised his hand to graze the surface, but his reflection followed not his movement. Instead, it produced a sword. Henry froze, his fingertips hovering over the surface . . . in horror.

Before his very gaze, the man's charming grin became cold and wicked. In one swift move, he raised the sword and pierced the mirror. A deafening crash rang in Henry's ears, and sharp, cold pain bloomed in his chest . . . as though it had not been a mirror but a door, as though the man with the sword were not a reflection.

But . . . he wasn't a reflection. He was not Henry. The man yanked his sword back, and before he could process that he had stabbed not only the mirror but also Henry's own chest, water gushed out of the crack in the opening.

Henry staggered back. Hot wetness seeped out of him, but he barely felt it. He looked down at his hands . . . there was a sword in his hand too, and the blade, just like his hands, was red with blood.

The water rose relentlessly. Henry released the sword so that it clanked against the floor and retreated, but he could only do that for so long because the tunnel was suddenly a cave and there was no way out. He wanted to run . . . to fight. But he couldn't do any of it. The water rose steadily until it finally swallowed him. Henry meant to scream, but out of his mouth came no sound. Invisible chains had locked around his neck, not allowing him a single breath.

He couldn't even open his mouth.

Henry could do nothing but let the tide carry him. His vision sparked, and his chest ached. The water was red . . . no, white. There was white above him. A white . . . window? Henry's head broke the surface of the water, and he reached up, realizing it was the same substance that the man who hadn't been his reflection had appeared out of.

His hand placed down on it, and the white was stained with red. To his astonishment, it was . . . cold.

Then, a shadow appeared behind the surface, and Henry's heart skipped a beat when he made out Thanatos on the other side of the odd substance this time. His flier gazed down at him, and Henry's mouth widened into a smile.

Death!

He attempted to scream, but it was like he had lost the ability to control his vocal cords. His mouth opened and closed, yet he did not produce sounds.

His bond stared down with an unreadable expression, and Henry felt a swell of irritation. He closed his hand into a fist and banged it against the oddly cold substance.

Death?

But his bond did not move. Did not even emote. The longer he remained idle, the more of Henry's confusion turned into panic.

Death!

With each passing second, it became harder and harder to remain on the surface, not least because the pain in his chest increased. Blood surged out of him, staining his hands and clothes.

Soon the water would fill the entire cave, and then—

D e a t h !

Seconds later, Henry was entirely engulfed. He banged his fists on the surface until they hurt. Until the white dripped with his red blood. It was so much blood. Henry screamed Thanatos' name over and over, but the flier remained motionless, not rushing to help, not attempting to break the surface on his end, not even giving him a reassuring look. Not even looking distressed.

All his screaming did was cause Henry to swallow more water. Eventually, he ran out of air, and his vision blurred. Lights sparked before his eye and the pain in his chest became nearly unbearable. He could not even raise his hand to bang it against the surface anymore.

Every fiber in his body wailed, but the boy couldn't. His eyes were on . . . his bond, who motionlessly watched him drown. And he watched his eyes: the amber was empty.

Henry screamed.

He jerked up to sit; his hand flew to his chest and found his hammering heart, but no blood. Henry heaved, staring out into the nigh-unbroken darkness of his sleeping cave. Tears formed in his eye and he allowed them to flow. He hadn't the energy to fight anymore.

"What happened?"

Henry winced at the voice and the silhouette, who had dropped from his usual hanging spot now. He quickly turned away and wiped his face. Thanatos waited for a few heartbeats, then approached. Henry only saw him as a dim silhouette in what little glow seeped in from the water outside.

His hand flew to the torch he had positioned by his bedside instinctively, and he hurriedly ignited it. To his horror, his hands were shaking. But in the light, Henry saw that the eyes that stared at him now didn't look empty; he forced himself to breathe. They were bright and . . . worried.

"Another night terror?"

"I'm fine." He gritted his teeth.

"You . . . can tell me about it if you want."

Henry clutched his knees to his chest, biting his lip so hard that it hurt. He wanted nothing more than to break into proper tears, to weep into Thanatos' fur, and to let himself be comforted, be weak for one night, but . . . wasn't he pathetic enough?

"It wasn't like the others," he whispered instead. Henry squinted, forcing himself to remember the chaotic, terrifying pictures from the countless nightmares he'd had over the last sixty days. They had varied in grotesqueness, scenery, and setting, yet they all had one thing in common. "This one had nothing to do with my eye."

"No?"

Henry swallowed; his first instinct was to brush him off, but . . . they were bonds. Did he not owe the flier to share his fears? Without looking at Thanatos, he retold the dream as best he could. He left out only the part about the flier watching him drown. It . . . did not really add anything to the dream, and it would just make things uncomfortable.

"It may be a fear," said Thanatos after a while. "You were killed by the self that you were so proud of. Maybe it is your way of processing that you are no longer him."

Henry stared at the floor. Thanatos wasn't wrong, but . . .

"Do not let this get to you," said the flier. "It was only a dream."

Henry nodded.

"You . . ." Thanatos hesitated. "Would you . . . I mean, would you like me to—"

"Can you take me with you the next time you go out flying?" Henry cut him off, looking up.

"You—" Thanatos was silent for a moment. "Of . . . of course. I didn't . . . I mean, wouldn't you be bored with aimless flying?"

"Is that why you never offered?" Henry managed a quiet laugh. "Honestly, I miss it a lot. Just flying, you know? Maybe it'll help to make me feel less trapped here."

"I . . . that . . . makes sense . . ." Thanatos stared at the floor. "I can take you next time." Then he looked up. "I . . . don't want you to think that I didn't offer because I didn't want you around. I did not think that you would care for something so mundane, considering how much you whined on our trip over the waterway."

"That's fair." Henry smiled, relishing a profound wave of relief. "I should have asked sooner . . . Because yes, I did feel a little left out."

"Then we shall fly together tomorrow," said Thanatos, and Henry smiled more genuinely joyfully than he remembered ever smiling since they had come here.

"Do you think you can sleep for a few more hours?" asked Thanatos.

Henry nodded, extinguishing the torch and laying back down. His flier was right; he ought to rest, and when he woke, they would fly together. And still, the moment the cave went dark, the nightmare's bitter aftertaste returned. It had been . . . just a dream. But the image of Thanatos' empty stare had etched itself deep into his mind. It haunted Henry for hours until exertion at last overwhelmed him, and he slipped into a restless, light sleep.

Henry had no sense of how long he had slept, but when he woke, Thanatos was already gone. This was not unusual; he oftentimes went out while Henry still slept. But on this day, Henry felt a pang because of it. Hadn't Thanatos promised that they would fly together today?

Just as he had finished his morning routine and slipped into his boots to go looking for him, Thanatos fluttered through the entrance. "Henry, you must come. The suppliers are here!"

Henry's face immediately lit up, and he dropped the backpack he had been holding. "Oh, think you they may have those yellow fruits from the jungle?"

Without waiting for Thanatos' response, he dashed past him and out of the cave. Sand sprayed out from under his feet as he sprinted to the other side of the island. Moments later, Thanatos soared above his head, and they arrived almost simultaneously at the beach that faced the mainland, where Henry had been stranded during his very first time here.

Now, an elongated, human-made boat lay on the familiar beach. An entourage of three moths hovered above the boat that was, as always, packed with goods.

Only a week after he and Thanatos had arrived here, Henry had learned that the crawlers on the island had a contract with the flutterers to sustain them in exchange for services from their kin on the mainland. They brought supplies and news every few weeks, and when they had learned that the famed Wielder of Light had taken camp on the island, they had begun including goods that were meant for him in their deliveries.

Henry and Thanatos exchanged greetings with the flutterers and immediately began hauling the crates off the boat. The crawlers who lived deeper inside the mountain had also come out and efficiently organized the crates by their contents.

When Henry assessed the load for the first time, he rejoiced. All sorts of food—grain, dried beef, mushrooms, and yes, even his beloved yellow jungle fruits. Multiple barrels of torch fuel and a full crate of medical supplies to restock his medical kit—bandages, painkillers, disinfectants, anti-inflammatory, and even antipyretic.

"We shall dine like kings tonight!" Henry exclaimed when they had finished stacking everything by the base of the mountain.

"So we may," replied Thanatos, and despite what they had discussed yesterday, Henry couldn't keep himself from approaching the leader of the flutterers with a different kind of request.

"You are well-informed, no?" he asked. "Have you any notion about whether there is a current need for mercenaries?"

Thanatos shot Henry an accusatory glance from where he sat over by the crates, but Henry's eye was only on the flutterer; his heart hammered out of his chest. The sight of the boat, the means to get to the mainland, had rekindled his desire to leave. And Thanatos was his bond, not his parent—he could not tell him what to do. If I stay here a single day longer, I'll go mad, Henry thought, eyeing the mountain with contempt.

But the flutterer shook his head. "Oh no," he said. "Nobody has any mind for that at the moment. It is not the time for interpersonal quarrels now."

"Why not?" Henry frowned. Behind him, Thanatos appeared, looking at the flutterer with interest as well.

The supplier party exchanged glances. "Have you not heard?" another moth said. "The Curse of the Warmbloods is upon us."

"The Curse of the what now?"

"The Curse of the Warmbloods," the flutterer repeated. "Your people call it "the plague". It swept through the Dead Land a few weeks ago. The gnawers are still dying in large numbers. Your kind fights it, though we hear that both human cities have been befallen."

A plague. A feeling of unease washed over Henry. For a moment, he wondered how he hadn't heard about it yet, but . . . he had been stuck on this isolated island for the last two months. Of course he hadn't.

He swallowed, processing that the flutterer had said both the Fount and Regalia had been befallen. His mind flashed with images of everyone he cared about—Luxa, Nerissa, Vikus, Solovet, Mareth . . . He dug his heel into the sand, unable to complete his list because it was too extensive.

"These are dire news," said Thanatos beside him. "Have you by any chance information on whether the nibblers are affected too?"

The nibblers! Henry spun around to face the moth eagerly. He hadn't even thought about his friends in the jungle, but . . . as much as he feared for his loved ones in Regalia, the Regalians had advanced medical equipment, laboratories, and skilled doctors. Teslas, Lovelace, and their colony did not.

"Not that we have heard of," replied the flutterer. "We prefer to stay hidden for as long as it lasts. We are not warmbloods, so it does not affect us, but it is still safer this way."

Henry and Thanatos exchanged glances. "It looks like we might leave here sooner than anticipated after all," said the flier, visibly unnerved, and unease stirred in Henry as well, all of a sudden. This was not the motive he had envisioned for their departure.

***

Before they left, Henry decided to make bread and eat lunch. As he took on the mundane task, he contemplated whether the nibblers may have more information on Regalia as well—on who was affected.

Thanatos agreed that they could stay at the colony for a while if it was safe, and even so, the thought of their departure no longer gave Henry joy.

When he was finally done, a few hours later, Henry made sandwiches for lunch. He and Thanatos ate, but when his flier asked if he was ready to fly, Henry sprung to his feet one last time. "There is something else," he said. "Give me ten minutes."

Without looking back at Thanatos, Henry made his way back into the cave. He searched through some leftover leather pieces he had meant to discard and picked one out that was approximately the right size. With it in hand, he stepped back out.

Thanatos watched him with vivid interest when Henry pulled out Mys and cut the leather into his desired shape. When he was satisfied, he raised and fastened it around his head before turning back to the flier. "Well, what say you? Have you made an accurate judgment about my potential to appear handsome in a thing such as this?"

Thanatos stared at him for a moment, then laughed. "Yes," he said. "It suits you well."

Henry grinned back, approaching the barrel of water they stored in a corner that was smooth enough to also function as a mirror.

"Although I wonder," Thanatos continued, "why have you decided to make an eyepatch now, considering you have not worn one so far?"

"Because we may be in the company of others again soon," said Henry, leaning over the water. "If I do not cover it, I may give all the children nightmares."

Thanatos did not reply, but Henry was too taken aback by the sight of himself to really notice. The patch did not cover the massive scar entirely, but it appeared significantly less disturbing now, and . . . Henry stared at his reflection a moment longer, and finally, he gave himself a crooked grin. Because Thanatos had been right, he did look fine. And not just fine.

For a moment, Henry thought back to his attempts at making himself into someone who looked more like a veteran outcast mercenary before the loss of his eye. Now, he no longer needed masks or face coverings for that.

He hadn't honestly expected to ever say this again, but the face that stared back at him—the face that was his now—was a face that Henry liked.

Despite the memories of the loss it carried, he had grown his hair out beyond its original length because he liked tying it together when he exercised. Stray strands fell into a face that was very apparently no longer the face of a prince—narrow and hardened, marred by a number of scars. The long hair and eyepatch, on top of that, lent him an air of roguish nonchalance, creating the image of a seasoned outcast he had strived for better than anything he had tried before.

At least, Henry thought, as his smile widened, he looked like the Death Rider now. This notion managed to raise his spirits a little.

"It is a handsome look for me!" he called toward Thanatos, rising to his feet. "I look like the Death Rider," he added after a short pause, scooping up his packed backpack.

Thanatos gave him an amused smile. "Is that all it took to invigorate you?"

Henry didn't lose his smile as he mounted up. "Appearances can work wonders," he said, fumbling with the patch that felt unfamiliar on his face. "And now, at least I look like someone I may actually want to be again."

"But you have not genuinely changed." Thanatos spread his wings, and the moment he lifted off, a rush of excitement hit Henry like a brick wall. Because . . . he was flying.

"I feel better. Is that not what matters?"

"I suppose it is." Thanatos soared once above the mountain, and Henry spotted a few crawlers below, antennas waving. "But if that was all it took, why not do it sooner?"

"Because it is not only the look," replied Henry, raising a hand to wave the crawlers goodbye. "It is also the fact that we are heading out for people to see me like this."

"You draw spirit from your vanity?"

"I do!"

Thanatos laughed, then shouted, "Run like the river! Thank you for your hospitality!" toward the crawlers.

"Run like the river!" Henry echoed. He thought they were returning the greeting, but the moment the last word had escaped his mouth, he averted his gaze from the island to look ahead. Not for a single moment did he glance back.